


always gold

by starscry (orphan_account)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blind Ignis, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, M/M, Older Characters, Spoilers, Umbra as a guide dog, sad endgame canon pulled apart for juicy bits and otherwise disregarded, side Gladio/Prompto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 17:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9502787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/starscry
Summary: Growing used to Umbra is a slow process for Ignis. Noctis can tell that the other man isn’t completely at ease with the fact that his newfound guide dog-slash-companion is, in all likelihood, some sort of divine spiritual messenger brought to Eos by Shiva, but he begins to accept it.[ In which Noctis survives his final battle and takes his rightful place as king, Ignis gets a guide dog, and Insomnia rebuilds. ]





	

**Author's Note:**

> this fic started out as a small idea about Ignis using Umbra as a guide dog and turned into some unholy amalgamation of my own thoughts re: Noct and the end of the game sort of spewed out onto a googledoc. so, uh.

“ _Rebuilding efforts have already begun within Insomnia’s Citadel district. Full renovations are expected to take anywhere from several months to a number of years, and are currently dependent on aid from Lestallum and the surrounding areas of Lucis._ ”

Sleep weighs his eyelids down, ready to claim him once more; Noctis fights it and focuses on the tinny voice that echoes around the room. 

“ _Three checkpoints have been established to aid citizens returning to the city: one outside Galdin Quay, another near Keycatrich, and a final one just outside Ostium Gorge._ ”

Noctis counts to a slow ten in his mind, then lets his eyes flicker open. Bright light immediately blinds him for several moments, and he squints against it, vision adjusting in sluggish waves. To his left, sunlight streams through a tall, white-paned window, and he watches dust motes float lazily through the beams. Beside the window, a small fan is perched on a table and pointed at him in a meager attempt to counteract the stifling heat that hangs heavy in the room; the breeze it creates ruffles his hair and cools the sweat he can feel dotting his forehead. 

_Oh,_ he thinks, mind still numb, _it’s light out._

“ _Word on the condition of King Noctis is still awaited, and his retinue has refused to provide us with any commentary. Whether alive or dead, one thing is certain – Lucis is in his debt._ ”

He blinks and squints once more at the light. Slow realization washes over him, and Noctis’s lips part, eyes widening. _Holy shit,_ he thinks, _it’s_ light _out_. His gaze flits about his immediate surroundings – he’s in bed, Noctis realizes, and he smooths a hand over the sheets that are pooled around his waist, catching sun on the back of his hand; he marvels at the bright rays filtering through the window and dotting his skin with spots of light, a comfortable warmth he hasn’t felt in ages. Noctis pulls himself up to a sitting position, the bedsprings creaking beneath his weight. He hears a _clack_ against the room’s wooden floor, and a black blur suddenly leaps onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath its weight – a dog, he realizes after a moment of staring at it. Not _just_ a dog –

“Umbra,” he croaks out. Noctis’s hand flies to his throat and he scratches at it, brows knit at how hoarse it feels. His entire mouth is dry and sticky, almost as if it’s stuffed full of cotton; still, Umbra reacts to his name being called with a wagging tail and a soft bark. 

“ _Further reports on the conditions of_ \--”

The voice from the corner of the room stops abruptly with a _click_ and a chair scratches against the floor. Noctis glances toward the noise, vision still blurry and eyelids heavy – he can’t quite make out _who_ is heading toward him, but it’s a definite _someone_. Tall, wearing a dark shirt and pants and.. glasses? A cane?

His mind puts two and two together. “Ignis!” Noctis attempts to cry, but it comes out sounding more like a raspy whisper of _Ig–nis_ than what he’d intended. Noctis tries to pull himself out of bed, but a firm pair of hands press flat against his chest and keep him in place; he looks up into the face of his most beloved friend and sees the other man’s lips moving, but can’t hear the sound from them – his mind feels like static, and he wonders, _is this real?_ and suddenly remembers sitting in a dark throne room, the sword of his father piercing his stomach and a single, last breath shuddering from his lips. Noctis thinks of Ardyn and Luna and the past Lucian kings fighting by his side, and the feeling of blistering fire scorching his entire body, and then a vast, white nothingness, and Gentiana’s -- no, _Shiva’s_ voice echoing in his mind: _The gods have deemed you worthy to return to this life. Your people need someone to guide them in the new age; Lucis must have a ruler. Walk tall, young king._

Noctis gasps and white-knuckles the bedsheets as the memories come back to him. The haziness in his mind begins to dissipate, and Ignis’s voice comes into focus.

“Noct? Noct, are you all right?” he asks, shaking his king with gentle hands and a concerned look knitting his brow.

“Ignis,” he rasps again, covering the other man’s hands with his own; he pries the fingers from his chest and laces them with his own until their palms are squeezed tight together. Tears well up in his eyes and happiness burns like a steady flame in his chest. “Ignis. Ignis, Ignis – oh, gods,” Noctis sobs, a smile on his lips as he presses their foreheads together and relief at being _alive_ and _here_ again overwhelms him.

“Noct,” Ignis breathes out, mirroring the younger man’s smile. “You had me worried for a moment.”

“I -- what’s going on? Where am I?”

“Lestallum,” Ignis replies. “Talcott’s been kind enough to let us use several rooms in The Leville, given how packed the city has been for a long time. You’ve been in a coma for nearly two weeks, now. We were afraid you might never awaken.”

“Two weeks..” Noctis echoes. His gaze flits to the sunlight streaming through the window. “We won, then?”

“We won,” Ignis confirms warmly. “Thanks to you, Ardyn was defeated. We found your body sitting upon the throne – you were, miraculously, still breathing, though fully unconscious. The three of us brought you back here, and everyone has been waiting for you to awaken ever since. When you have recovered, we will accompany you back to Insomnia.”

Noctis flexes his fingers; he feels the phantom weight of the Ring of the Lucii, but when he looks down, it isn’t there. _It shattered_ , he realizes, remembering his battle with Ardyn. 

“The crystal – is it..?” his voice trails off. 

Ignis shakes his head, a frown tugging at his features. “Gone. It seems the gods decided to take their gift back with them, now that we’ve no need for it any longer.”

“The ring, too,” Noctis replies. He flexes his fingers and concentrates on the palm of his hand, cupping it in his lap and attempting to summon a small flame there; nothing comes to him. “I can’t.. my magic is gone.”

“So it would appear. Lucian magic was tied to the crystal – it makes sense that, with the crystal’s disappearance, your magic would disappear alongside it. Ours, as well.”

Noctis feels a hollow pit inside him where his magic once resided. _A necessary sacrifice,_ he reminds himself. “Prompto and Gladio? Are they here, too?” he asks after a long moment, staring expectantly at Ignis.

“Just down the hall.”

Once more, Noctis moves to pull himself out of bed, but Ignis’s hands press against his chest and push him back down again. “It’s best if you stay here, for the time being; your body is still recovering. I can fetch them for you.”

“Please,” Noctis replies.

Ignis nods and stands from where he’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, palming his cane and making for the exit. “I’ll return in a moment.”

The door clicks open and shut, and Noctis rolls over onto his side, facing Umbra. The dog leans forward and showers his face in slobbery kisses, tail wagging back and forth happily; Noctis has to bat him away, laughter choking his throat. “Missed you, boy,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around Umbra’s neck and pressing his face into the thick, dark fur of his ruff. Umbra replies with an exhaled _boof_ that ruffles Noct’s hair.

He hears the door open a few moments later and a shrill cry of “ _Noct!_ ” sounds from the entryway, followed by a sudden weight pressing him down on the bed and arms hugging him tight.

“Prompto,” Noctis laughs, returning the hug. 

“Woah, pump the breaks. He’s still hurt, dipshit,” Gladio says, laughter lacing his words. He rolls Prompto off Noctis with a firm hand and joins them on the bed, wrapping Noct up in his own bear hug. “Missed you,” he murmurs.

“You’d better not start crying,” Noct replies.

Gladio sniffs and rubs at his eyes with the back of a hand, shaking his head firmly. “Me? Cry? Never,” he huffs, but the tears thick in his throat belie his words.

Prompto pries one of Gladio’s arms off Noct and chirps, “Quit hogging him to yourself!” He joins in, hugging both of them tight to his scrawny body and even grabbing Ignis’s wrist for good measure to bring them all together in a messy group hug. Noct hears a deep sniff that most _definitely_ came from Gladio and stifles a laugh, pressing his face into Ignis’s neck and breathing in deep.

“It’s good to be back with you guys. And not in danger, for once,” Noctis mumbles, and his sentiment is echoed by various affirmations from the other three men. “We have so much catching up to do.”

“Ten years of it,” Prompto quips.

“The first thing I wanna know is when and _why_ you decided to grow that awful goatee, Prompto.”

“Hey! Don’t diss the facial hair. It makes me look good.”

Gladio snorts. “In your dreams. One of us has gotta take one for the team and shave that thing off while you sleep.”

“For once, I am glad I cannot see whatever it is you’ve decided to grow on your face,” Ignis states dryly. 

Prompto frowns and clutches at his chest, mock-offended. “You wound me,” he laments. “All of you. I’ve spent so long carefully cultivating it, and _this_ is what I get? I need new friends.”

“Too bad,” Noct says, tugging Prompto in by his waist for a hug. “You’re stuck with us.”

Laughter echoes around the room, and a warmth burns deep in Noct’s chest. _I’m home _, he thinks. _Home is wherever they are.___

____

\- - - 

“You still use that old cane?” Noct asks one day, staring pointedly at the object in question.

Ignis glances up at him from the note he’d been writing, brow quirked. His hand moves to rest on the handle of his cane in such a defensive manner that Noct has to stop himself from letting out a laugh. “Yes, I do. Is there a problem with it?” the other man asks.

“I mean, it’s just.. so archaic. I leave and you’re using that thing, then come back _ten years_ later and you’re still using it. Isn’t there something a little more.. modern?”

“Well, considering it was a kind gift from the Altissian government and I am quite familiar with how it works, I fail to see any point in using something else.”

“You want to spend the rest of your life tapping around to see where you should go?”

Ignis snorts. “I can’t very well _wish_ my sight back, so it remains the only option.”

Noct sits up in his bed, bunching his covers around his waist; beside him, Umbra’s ear twitches inquisitively. “What if it’s _not_ the only option?”

Sitting back in his chair, Ignis folds his arms across his chest and turns his glassy gaze toward Noct. “What, pray tell, might you be suggesting?”

“I’m just saying that a cane is old school. Why use one when there’s a perfectly good dog here?”

“I d--”

“Hear me out before you say anything,” Noct replies, effectively cutting Ignis off from whatever tirade he was about to go on. The other man presses his lips together in a thin line and nods a _go on_ at Noct. “Look, I’ve known Umbra for a long time. And I think he could give you a bit more freedom than you have right now with your blindness. Trust me, since I woke up and found Umbra here, I’ve thought a lot about this – he can make travelling faster for you, and he’s smart enough to quickly pick up commands or whatever else you want to teach him, so you can use him as a sort of personal assistant to grab stuff you need instead of you having to get up and get it. Plus, he’s.. alone, now. Since Luna’s gone, he has nobody. It’ll be mutually beneficial.”

Ignis considers his words, brow knit and fingers drumming on the top of the table beside him. “While I understand where you are coming from, I don’t believe Umbra has ever received any sort of formal training as a guide dog. It is doubtful he would know what to do.”

“That’s just it – he can do pretty much anything,” Noct replies. “I mean, Umbra’s not really.. normal, I guess? Like, no shit, because Gentiana gave him to Luna, but still. At least give it a try? If you really don’t think it’ll work, it won’t hurt my feelings. I just.. want the best for you, is all.”

“I’m grateful you care so much for me,” Ignis murmurs, a fond smile upon his lips. “Truly. I suppose it would not hurt to put Umbra to the test; if I’m being quite honest, I _do_ wish to not use a cane everywhere. It’s entirely too tiring.”

Noct mentally fistpumps the air at Ignis’s concession, and Umbra, seeming to sense his happiness, wags his tail lazily.

\- - - 

Growing used to Umbra is a slow process for Ignis. Noctis can tell that the other man isn’t completely at ease with the fact that his newfound guide dog-slash-companion is, in all likelihood, some sort of divine spiritual messenger brought to Eos by Shiva, but he begins to accept it; sometimes, when Ignis is at rest or doing something that doesn’t fully require guidance, Umbra disappears off to gods-know-where, only to pad from the shadows up to Ignis’s side when he’s needed again, always seeming to know _exactly_ where and when to pop up. Umbra is intuitive enough to understand what Ignis needs with little direction from the man and takes up his duty as a faithful guide dog, despite never having received formal training to become one. It’s all very stunning to Ignis, and Noct just smiles blithely every time the other man says as much; having spent time in Tenebrae with Lunafreya, Pryna, and Umbra during his childhood, as well as the frequent visits Umbra made to Lucis with Luna’s book, he feels he more or less understands that the dog isn’t entirely _dog_ , and is, rather, some sort of odd astral being in a dog’s body that has full understanding of Ignis’s condition and humans in general. Umbra, in all aspects, does a fantastic job of leading the blind.

Ignis becomes comfortable enough to ditch his cane at Noct’s gentle pressing and figures out how to work with his new pair of eyes by going on walks. Noct invites himself to go along with them so he can watch Ignis’s progress and spend time with the other man, chatting idly and reminiscing about their youth. At first, the walks are just around The Leville area – Ignis tells Umbra which floor he’d like to go to, and the dog responds by pressing the corresponding elevator button with his nose, waiting until they arrive and the doors open, and subsequently tugging Ignis along at a slow pace. Ignis quickly discovers that it’s easier to ditch the leash and have Umbra guide him by walking by his side, bumping gently against his legs to turn him away from objects and steer him down the correct path. The longer they spend walking together, the more in-sync they become, almost as if their minds are connected; Noct doesn’t doubt that Umbra has some way of preternaturally knowing the exact path they need to take to arrive at the destination Ignis speaks to him, and the dog pads along happily, tongue lolling from his mouth and warm eyes sparkling with the happiness of having a newfound purpose after his previous master’s death.

They establish a morning routine where Ignis lets Umbra into Noct’s room and the dog wakes him up by jumping on his bed and licking his face and bedhead until he’s forced to get up and bat Umbra off, Ignis laughing all the while at the image of the scene he’s no doubt conjured up in his head. Ignis waits patiently and works on verbal commands with Umbra while Noct washes up, and then they meander down to Lestallum’s marketplace to get breakfast and coffee at the same stand they’ve come to prefer (whose owner greets them every morning with a bright smile, their regular drinks, and a cup full of whipped cream for Umbra to lick). They walk a bit more, and Noct describes things in detail to Ignis so the man will never forget the things he’s seen – the way the morning light glints off the Disc of Cauthess from afar, illuminating it and turning the entire thing into a beacon of rosy hues, almost like a massive flower blossoming up from the ground; Galdin Quay on a balmy day, fish swimming lazily below the surface of the vivid blue water; the streets of Lestallum, the people who walk them, and even the bizarre assless waders that many of the women in the city seem to wear. 

Later, they meet up with Gladio and Prompto in Noct’s room and spend hours talking late into the afternoon about what he’d missed while in the crystal – what happened to them, the people they know, and the world when everything was plunged into darkness. Umbra sits and watches them like a stoic guardian, and life starts to feel almost like it used to.

After several weeks, when Noctis feels he’s regained his strength and is ready to do so, they each pack up their belongings into a car loaned to them by Cindy and leave for Insomnia. For home.

\- - - 

Insomnia grows slowly, like the first tendril of green peeking through the ashes of scorched land, a tiny bloom of color amidst what has been razed. Able-bodies refugees trickle in from Lestallum day-by-day in the backs of caravan-hooded trucks, carrying their meagre belongings and setting up makeshift homes in dirty buildings littered with shattered glass where the presence of daemons can still be felt in the corners where light does not fully shine. They bring with them crates of supplies and a hope for the future, guided back to their home by the sun’s rays.

Reconstruction is slow. Collapsed Magitek engines are hauled out to the city limits and the empty husks of fallen MTs are taken apart, their armor melted down for scrap metal to begin piecing buildings back together. As weeks pass, more and more people filter into Insomnia and take up the task of putting their homes back together. Skyscrapers begin to light up at night, their windows like shining beacons to the others that broadcast a message of promise – _we are here,_ they seem to say. _We have won._

Noctis joins the efforts, putting aside his formal suits and royal fatigues and instead donning old tee shirts lent to him by Gladio that are far too large for his skinny body and going out into the streets to help rebuild. He’s not Noctis Lucis Caelum the king in these times; he’s simply Noct, another citizen of Insomnia. Construction workers teach him how to fill massive holes in the streets with black asphalt and how to lay bricks to patch up the sides of buildings; he, Gladio, and Prompto help install new windows and sweep glass and load massive chunks of cracked concrete into the backs of trucks to be taken away; side-by-side with women from Lestallum’s powerplant, they bring electric and gas lines back to life and restore power to the city. Everyone pulls their weight – even Aranea shows up, unbidden, in her brilliant red MT engine with her band of mercenaries to help carry refuse and quickly transport supplies from Lestallum to Insomnia, and leaves with empty threats that, some day, _mark her words_ , she’ll come to collect the debt owed to her by Noctis.

Insomnia begins to look more like it had in Noct’s youth, minus the ever-present wall that had protected them all from Niflheim. People walk the streets, basking in the bright daylight after being deprived of it for an entire decade, like cats curling up in warm sunspots. Slowly, Lucis puts itself back together.

Then, nearly a year after Ardyn’s defeat, the city _blossoms._

Shops begin to open their doors once more, new neon signs that glow steadily in their windows advertising discounts and beaming ‘OPEN’ in bright red letters. Fliers stuck to lampposts flutter in the breeze with information about everything from cooking classes to yoga studios to dog walking and tutoring services, phone numbers printed on tearaway slips at their bottoms. Sandwich boards sit outside restaurants and beckon customers in with witty puns and drawings scrawled in chalk. Noct even sees that the old arcade he and Prompto frequented in high school has reopened, run by the son of the old man who’d worked it when they were both teenagers; he finds out that the old owner had perished – killed by a demon – and wonders just how many people he’d once known in Insomnia died because of Ardyn’s petty grudge.

Mail floods the palace. Letters from foreign dignitaries come in, congratulating Noctis on his victory and professing their eagerness to maintain relations between Lucis and their respective nations. Some are requests for aid from Lucian citizens, and others are simple letters of thanks addressed to Noct; he’s struck by the amount of crayon-scrawled renditions of his face he receives from children who struggle to spell out the words ‘Thank You King Noctis’ and pepper their works with smiley faces and lopsided hearts. Prompto laughs and _aww_ s at each individual drawing and nearly tears up when Noct hands him a drawing that a young girl had done of Prompto, his hair colored in with bright yellow highlighter and looking somewhat akin to a chocobo butt. 

When he receives word that the market district has begun holding its weekly farmer’s markets once more, Ignis pesters Noctis to visit and purchase some fresh ingredients for a particular dish he’s been meaning to cook for a while. Noct obliges and dons some civilian clothes, meandering through the city streets and enjoying the early morning breeze. Carts and tent-covered stands line the entire district, shoppers bustling down the lines of makeshift shops with arms laden down by bags full of produce; Noctis sees colorful fruits overflowing in cardboard crates, spices sitting in open sacks, bouquets of flowers rubber-banded together and blooming brightly in glass vases, and little artisan trinkets being peddled by artists. 

He walks from stand to stand and picks up the ingredients Ignis had asked him to – some rather pricey ulwaat berries, fine Cleigne wheat, Leiden potatoes, a few bananas, and a flaky pie crust – and stops at one of the food trucks to grab Gladio a few containers of Cup Noodles. Instead of turning back immediately, Noct decides to enjoy the atmosphere for a bit, slowly examining the goods at each stand and purchasing a few extra things for his friends (a Moogle phone charm for Iris, a plastic potted Cactaur for Talcott, and a little trinket advertised by its craftsman as being ‘made from one-hundred-percent _real_ Chocobo feathers!’ for Prompto). One of the stands he comes across is tucked away in the corner of the farmer’s market, made up of what seems to be a large wagon with wooden planks laid upon it. Several beautiful pieces of pottery line the planks, bowls and plates and teapots glazed with white and finished with bright splashes of color, vibrant oranges and yellows and blues that form intricate, symmetrical flowers that spiral and flourish out. 

The old, hunched woman standing behind the stall notices him looking and beckons Noctis closer, a smile dancing upon her lips. She brushes a strand of white hair back and tucks it into the patterned shawl framing her face.

“Like what you see?” she asks. Her accent makes his brow twitch, and he thinks a moment before he finally places it as Accordan.

“Yeah. Yeah, I actually love it. Did you make all of this?” Noctis asks.

“I did. I have been making pottery since I was young; I shape and glaze each piece, and hand paint the décor.”

He nods slowly. She offers him a bowl to look closer at and he takes it gently in his hands, turning it to examine her beautiful craftsmanship. “These designs.. they look similar to ones I saw when I was in Altissia,” he comments.

“I was born and raised in a little village just outside of the city,” the old woman replies. “I learned my craft there, and decided to bring my trade to Lucis. I lived here, in the city, and had a little shop just next to the arcade nearest the palace.”

“The one on Camerata Street?” he asks, eyes widening with recognition. 

“The very same.”

“I remember your shop. I never got the chance to go in, but every time we walked by my friend would always talk about how pretty the pieces in the window were.” Prompto had tugged his sleeve and begged to go in many a time when they passed it on their way to the arcade, but Noct had always brushed the place off, not caring much for fancy plates and bowls when he had nicer ones at the palace or sufficient paper ones in his cupboards. 

“I opened up a new one in Lestallum when daemons invaded the city and we were forced out. When we found out what you had done, I decided it was finally time to come home,” she says. “I’m trying to find suitable place here in Insomnia, once more.”

Noctis turns the bowl in his hands again and eyes a second one resting on her makeshift table; he thinks about the plain plastic bowls Ignis uses to put Umbra’s food and water in, and thinks decidedly that it’s about time for new ones. “Well,” he replies, bending down to take the second bowl in his hands, “I’ll be sure to visit when you do. What’s your name?”

“Renata.”

He repeats her name, feeling it roll off his tongue and nodding. “When you open your shop, expect a visit; I’ll be there. For now, I’d like to buy these.”

The smile she gives him crinkles the crow’s feet at her eyes and she dips her head in thanks, taking the offered gil and wrapping the bowls in paper for him. “I will look forward to seeing you again, then,..” she trails off and looks at him expectantly.

“Noctis,” he replies. He leaves her with a few extra gil slipped under one of the ceramic plates and a slightly stunned expression when she finally realizes who he is. 

Later, Noct brings the ingredients back to Ignis and sits on the counter while the other man cooks, curiously watching him feel his way around the kitchen with a practiced ease. Ignis pulls a tray of pastries from the oven and a fond smile creeps onto Noct’s face; he takes a bite of one and _hmm_ s around the mouthful, and Ignis looks expectantly at him.

“How are they?”

“Mm.. Not quite.” He thinks back to the little, round cake he’d eaten so many years ago in Tenebrae. “They tasted a bit more cinnamon-y.”

“Cinnamon,” Ignis repeats, mentally cataloguing it. “I’ll be sure to put more in next time.”

“These are still delicious, though. Try one?”

Noct holds a pastry out to Ignis, who accepts it gratefully and takes a bite. “One would think that, given how long I’ve been making variations of this recipe for you, you might become tired of them,” he says.

“Never,” Noct replies. “Your cooking is too good to get tired of.”

“I’m flattered you think so,” Ignis replies, smiling. Noct reaches out and brushes the corner of the other man’s mouth with his thumb, swiping a smear of filling from it. He privately revels in the light flush that dusts his advisors cheeks and pops his thumb in his mouth, sucking the sugar off it.

“Too good,” he echoes.

\- - -

With each passing day spent walking amongst the populace, helping people rebuild and visiting new businesses as they spring up to familiarize himself with as many names and faces as he can, Noctis develops an acute ear for rumors. He first hears it whispered in the streets, hands cupped to mouths that faintly move near ears, wary of their words yet unaware that he is keener to rumors and creeping stares than he appears. The name dances its way across the lips of Lucis – the King of Scars.

The marks that had once simmered orange, like the low-burning flame of past kings writhing within Noctis’s body and flickering with power, faded of their own accord; now, they are a dusky gray, the ashes of his journey forever seared upon his flesh, crawling up his arms and blossoming over his chest and neck and face. When he touches the scars, fingers running over the twisted skin, he can’t help feeling that the deformity is Ardyn’s last laugh. A cruel reminder, imprinted upon him.

For once, Noctis is glad Ignis can’t see. He wants the face Ignis pictures in his mind’s eye when he thinks of Noct to be one of old – twenty, fresh-faced and bright-eyed, embarking upon a journey with his closest friends. Happier. When times were simpler and nights were spent idling by the low light of the campfire, eating homecooked meals and playing cards and reminiscing under the star-spattered night sky. Ten years of darkness weigh on both their bodies, now; they have their own scars to bear, both physical and immaterial. 

Noctis brings the name up to Ignis one night as they sit together on either side of the granite countertop in Noct’s temporary apartment, one of the few in the palace that had remained outside of the demonic influence, only a thick layer of dust and easily-cleaned cobwebs having touched it in the ten years since Insomnia’s fall. A half-empty bottle of Altissian wine sits between them and the meal Ignis had cooked over the sputtering stove. Umbra, lying at Ignis’s feet, rests his muzzle on his paws and sleeps, relaxed by the mellow ambiance. 

“I take it you’ve heard what the people are calling me nowadays?” Noctis asks, holding his wineglass by its stem and swirling the spirit around idly before putting it to his lips and taking a long draw. “‘The King of Scars,’ they say.” He lets out a dry laugh and watches Ignis’s brows knit and lips press together in a thin line; nothing, it seems, escapes the other man’s keen ears.

“Indeed,” Ignis murmurs after a long moment, voice low. He mimics Noct and sips his own wine, setting the glass back down on the counter with a soft _clink_.

“I’m not sure what to make of it,” Noct adds.

“If anything, it does not seem they call you such out of malice,” Ignis replies. “I’ve only heard it used as a term of respect in the few conversations I’ve caught; it would appear that your.. scars, to the people, are a symbol of what you’ve done for them, and for Lucis as a whole. They have an overwhelming amount of respect for you.”

“Guess I should take pride in the name, then.”

“Mm,” Ignis hums his agreement. A long moment of silence stretches between them, Ignis draining the last of his wine and Noctis idly pushing a balsamic-glazed brussel sprout around his plate with his fork. Below them, Umbra snorts in his sleep and rubs his muzzle on one of Ignis’s shoes.

Finally, Ignis breaks the silence, staring at Noctis; it’s unnerving, Noctis thinks, the way his friend seems to look _through_ rather than _at_ him nowadays, his single open eye cloudy and unfocused, barely moving. “I was.. unaware, until now, that you had such scars,” Ignis says quietly. “It seems none of the others had deemed it necessary to tell me.”

Noctis inhales quietly and holds the breath for a few moments, unsure of how to answer. Unconsciously, his hand drifts up to ghost over one of the scars that slices a path across the corner of his lips like a dark dagger gash; it seems to mimic a similar, smaller scar that mars Ignis’s own mouth. 

“I..” he trails off, pursing his lips. “I got them the final time I faced Ardyn, while you guys were outside. The kings infused me with their power and I guess it sort of.. burned me. My whole body. It was almost too much to bear.” He lets out a bitter huff of laughter. “Never thought I would come back alive, much less scarred like this. I’m still not used to it. They’re ugly.”

 _I feel ugly,_ he thinks, but doesn’t admit.

Ignis nods slowly. “It sounds it was quite the ordeal.”

“To put it lightly, yeah.”

The other man’s fingers twitch, curling into a loose fist. “Would you mind if I..” he pauses, mouth slightly open mid-thought, fist flattening to press against the cool countertop.

“Touch them?” Noctis offers, brow raised.

“If you are comfortable with me doing so. Ten years, you’ve been gone; I know how the others have changed, but you,” Ignis says, letting his words hang in the air, unfinished. 

“Of course,” Noctis breathes out. He takes Ignis’s hand in his and guides it to the right side of his face first, where the dark scarring is heaviest on his cheek. Softly, Ignis runs the tips of his fingers over the burns – he takes his time mapping out the right side of Noct’s face, cupping his king’s cheek gently, the pad of his thumb tracing his marred cheekbone, feeling the bumps and ridges and twisted knots. His first finger follows the skin upward to Noct’s browbone and feels the way his forehead has broadened just the slightest over the past ten years and how the scars zig-zag like tiny lightning bolts, one thicker burn slicing through his eyebrow and the rest curving up to his hairline before tapering off and leaving normal skin in their wake. 

Noctis sucks in a breath and holds it quietly as Ignis’s fingers, feather-light, touch the skin beneath his eyes and the dark bags that seem permanent fixtures there. “One would think that ten years inside the Crystal would have left you a bit more _rested_ , Highness,” Ignis chuckles. Noctis smiles at the joke and lets out a little huff of laughter; as his lips curve upward, Ignis’s fingers move down and gently trace them, ghosting over the scar that splits the corner of the right side of his mouth.

“There’s the smile I’ve missed all these years,” Ignis murmurs. Noct smiles a bit brighter and warmer for him, and the gesture creeps onto Ignis’s lips like a mirror. 

Ignis imitates his actions on the other side of Noctis’s face, fingers trailing across his cheekbone, down his neck, and stopping just short of the collar of his shirt. Noctis shivers as the other man ghosts over a sensitive spot below his ear, and the other man murmurs a quiet _sorry_.

“It’s fine,” Noctis replies. “Some spots are still a little tender.”

Ignis nods. He brushes a strand of Noct’s hair with a gentle finger, tucking it behind an ear. “You’ve let it grow out,” he comments.

“Yeah. Just a bit.”

“Your facial hair grew, as well, it seems,” Ignis continues drily.

Noctis rubs a hand across his scraggly beard, a wry smile creeping onto his lips. “What, you don’t like it?”

“I cannot say that I do, unfortunately. I much preferred your face clean-shaven.”

“You wound me, Ignis,” Noct replies, laughter lacing his words. 

“Apologies, your Majesty. I simply find it my duty as your royal advisor to inform you of such things and, ah, _advise_ you to invest in a razor.”

“Mm. Guess I should listen to your advice, then. _Ignis knows best_ , after all.” Noct stifles a laugh with the back of his hand, turning the sound into a rather unconvincing cough, seeing the indignant look that flashes momentarily across the other man’s face upon his hearing of the phrase that Noct and the others had so often taunted him with; over the years, it had become something of an inside joke – one that Ignis, notably, was _not_ fond of. Noctis turns his hand and scrubs it over his dark scruff once more, the coarse hairs tickling his palm, and continues his line of thought, “It probably makes me look too old, anyway.”

Ignis considers his words, swirling the pale red dregs around in his glass contemplatively. “You must look so similar to your father,” he remarks, quiet, the sarcastic tone that had colored his voice as they struck up friendly banter moments earlier replaced by something more melancholy, like a long-suffered ache deep in his being. “If only.. I were able to see it. See _you_.”

Ever-present, the knife of regret twists deeper into Noct’s stomach. He thinks about Altissia, about Leviathan and the Niffs and Ignis’s whole world being taken from him because of his duty to Lucis. To Noctis. _My fault,_ Noct’s inner thoughts whisper, a mantra he’s repeated to himself thousands of times since their unfortunate journey first began.

The glassy gray of Ignis’s eye flicks down and he stares distantly at his hands where they rest, primly folded upon the countertop. “How far down do the scars go?” he asks.

Noct’s brow furrows; he remembers waking up in Altissia and seeing himself for the first time in ten years, full body visible in the mirror of a fluorescent-lit bathroom – alone, naked, dark burns scoring his entire body. “All the way down,” he replies. “They’re the worst on my neck and chest. Stomach, too. Not as bad on my legs, but..”

A beat passes. Across the counter, the other man’s fists clench tightly, hands faintly shaking.

“ _Gods,_ Noct,” Ignis breathes out. “This world truly cast you an unfair lot.” He brings his hands to his face, taking his glasses off and setting them aside to press the heels of his palms against his eyes. Noct can’t tell if he’s crying or not; he feels hot tears prick at his own eyes, and the telltale burn of emotion hot in his chest, choking his throat. 

“It was my duty, as both king and the crystal’s chosen,” Noctis replies. His voice cracks. “And my burden to bear.”

“A burden you never deserved, and one I will forever wish you’d not had to bear alone.”

Tears he knows Ignis can’t see spill over his cheeks, and he bites his bottom lip, holding back a sob that threatens to rip from his chest. Emotions he never had the chance to face well up from deep inside him, where he’d choked and shoved them down into the pits of his being in favor of putting on a strong façade and facing his destiny with the modicum of strength he had left; as he inhales a shuddering breath, his whole body shakes, and Noctis hears the scrape of Ignis’s chair being pushed back on the kitchen tile and the soft _tap_ of his shoes against the floor and then, suddenly, a warmth at his back and arms sliding around him. Ignis holds him there, one arm over his stomach and the other brushing Noct’s dark hair back from his forehead, and anchors him as he used to so long ago, when Noct was a child with skin marked black and blue by bruises from training with Gladio, sobbing about how _unfair_ it was that he _had_ to be king some day, that he’d never _wanted_ to be born a royal and _why_ couldn’t he be _normal_ like everyone else? 

Noct simply sits there, hands clutching at the arm wrapped over his stomach, and lets himself cry. The tears he’d repressed for so long drip down his chin. “I miss Luna,” he sobs quietly, turning his face and pressing it into Ignis’s shoulder. “I miss her. And I miss my dad – _gods_ , Ignis, I miss him _so much._ ”

“I know, Noct,” Ignis whispers, leaning his cheek against the top of his king’s hair, embrace tight. “I miss them, too. Dealing with their deaths will never get any easier; but they are gone, and you must live as they would have wanted you to. Every day of the past ten years I spent grieving Lady Lunafreya and King Regis, as well as the others we’d lost along the way – and you, Noct. A part of me was terrified you would never return to us.” Noctis feels lips press against his forehead. “But you are here now. You are here.”

Ignis’s words sound almost like a self-reassurance, like he’s afraid that Noct will disappear from this world again at any moment and he’ll be left alone once more; his arms clutch Noct’s body closer. _I’m here,_ Noct thinks. In his mind’s eye, he sees Luna’s kind smile amidst sylleblossom petals and feels the unrepentant ache of loss in his chest.

\- - -

Luna’s ghost is never quite gone. It lingers in the hallways of the palace where she should have walked, had her fate not been cursed by Ardyn’s millennia-old grudge. Sometimes, Noctis thinks he catches a glimpse of a white wedding dress, or mistakes a passing woman on the street for her and can’t help the double-take he does. The hardest nights he spends in bed, face pressed into his tear-stained pillow to muffle his sobs as he clutches the book they’d passed messages back and forth in for nearly a decade to his chest until Umbra, keen to Noct’s fragile state, guides Ignis to his king’s room where he gathers Noct into his arms and soothes him until he’s finally claimed by sleep.

Sylleblossoms from Tenebrae arrive _en masse_ , per Noct’s orders. He puts them in vases and sets them upon wooden tables and mantelpieces in every room and hallway, bright blossoms blooming a stunning blue in every corner of the palace. It’s his own way of remembering her; Lucis mourns the loss of the Lady Lunafreya as their once and never queen, but Noctis knows her name will fade out of their memories and into history books as the last Oracle given time’s passage. He takes every measure to ensure that they remember her and the sacrifice she made for them all as long as he possibly can.

When Noctis spends moments alone with Umbra, the only other being he knows to have been just as close to Luna as he himself was, he can feel how perceptive the dog is. Umbra seems hyper-aware of Noct’s endless mourning, and Noct idly finds himself wishing they could talk together and commiserate – if anyone, Umbra would understand exactly how he feels, having lost both his master and Pryna in seemingly one fell swoop. Instead, Noct settles for sitting with his legs outstretched on the cold floor of the palace and pressing his face to Umbra’s soft fur as the dog rests its head in Noct’s lap; they breath in slow sync and Noct remembers that he has to keep living. For his friends. For his father. For _her_ , lest her life and death be in vain.

\- - -

Despite the doubts that plague him and the ghosts that dog his heels, with Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto at his side, Noctis feels strong enough to be the king his people deserve. It’s a learning process, making the abrupt jump from being a young and inexperienced prince to a slightly older and still inexperienced king with the weight of an entire rebuilding nation suddenly placed upon his shoulders, but his friends are there to help him bear the weight. They do things as they’ve always done them – together.

Ignis takes up his duties as royal advisor with pride, not letting his disability stop him from doing anything. He deals with paperwork and messages sent to Noctis, requests from various towns and areas in Lucis for small amounts of aid as they attempt to piece their lives back together throughout the country. Ignis enlists Noct to aid him when needed, and the younger man reads off letters or scans documents into Ignis’s computer so they can be relayed back to him through the text-to-speech program he uses.

“I thought you might be rather.. averse to this sort of work, your Highness,” Ignis comments lightly one day, Noctis sitting beside him with his feet kicked up on Ignis’s desk and a folder full of papers spread open in his lap. 

Noct idly chews the end of his pen and Ignis swats it from his mouth, mumbling a low, _I can hear that_ to him. “Mm,” he hums in reply, scribbling a quick note down on a paper, “if you’d asked me ten years ago to do something like this, I’d probably have, like.. run out on you.”

“Indeed.”

“But now, I just..” Noctis trails off, pen tapping against the white of the paper and leaving tiny black dots as he thinks about how important Ignis is to him and how oddly difficult he finds it to put that thought to words; spending time with the other man, even if it means doing gruntwork and passing hours reading dull formal statements, is something he loves. He’s always loved it, he thinks – before their journey, however, Noctis had never quite considered the fact that Ignis _isn’t_ invulnerable and won’t always be around for him, and he realized how much he’d taken the other man for granted. Now, with time and a regrowing kingdom at his hands, Noctis wants to make the most of the life they have left together; good people are few and far between, and Ignis is, and always has been, the best of them.

“Guess I’ve grown up a little. It’s not so bad anymore,” he settles for saying, instead. “Besides, it’s not like Umbra can read this stuff to you.”

“If he could, I am certain he would do it in a far less monotonous tone than you do,” Ignis replies dryly.

Noctis smiles. Some things he’ll keep to himself, he decides. If those things happen to be simple moments like this with Ignis, he’s happy to keep them all.

\- - - 

With Insomnia’s rebuilding going steadily well and the months quickly flitting by, Ignis proposes they organize a gala – an effort to welcome foreign dignitaries back to the capital city after a decade of darkness, as well as to familiarize Noctis with royals old and new, establish friendly relations with the new heads of Niflheim’s government, and attempt to accrue supplies and further aid for Insomnia’s rebuilding efforts. The celebration falls mid-summer upon the solstice, when day will be at its longest and night at its shortest; it’s a perfectly fitting date, Noctis thinks, for something meant to bring the nations of Eos together once more and commemorate the end of the Starscourge. Ignis, ever aware of Noct’s unease about the scars that now mark his body, includes in the missive sent out to the foreign ambassadors a dress code: formal, as is expected, with the added requirement of a mask for all. It’s less of a costumed masquerade and more of a way for Noctis to keep his scars covered while engaging with the invitees.

The entire week in advance is spent in an uproar. Gladio brings a plethora of new Crownsguards to the small force he’d been gathering and training since people began journeying back to Insomnia, and promptly scares them shitless by promising he’ll personally see to the cutting off of their balls should any harm befall the celebration’s attendees or, gods forbid, Noctis himself. Prompto, having assigned himself the previously-nonexistent position of “Royal Photographer and Selfie-Taker,” spends the time testing lighting in different areas of the palace and taking zoomed-in pictures of Noct’s nose that he threatens to release to the press unless he can put a few songs on the party setlist, only to be disappointed when Ignis crisply informs him that there will _not_ be a DJ, as the celebration is _formal_. Ignis, meanwhile, seems buried under a mountain of letters from the other nations and paperwork that he has either Noctis or Prompto, when he can be wrangled, read to him so he can reply swiftly; he ensures that catering, decorations, and everything else possibly necessary are taken care of before the other royals arrive, and Noctis spends most of his _own_ time wondering how in the seven hells Ignis _still_ manages to do it all.

Finally, the day of the gala arrives, and it feels like Insomnia lets out a collective breath it had been holding in for too long. Noctis struggles into a fitted suit Ignis had ordered to be made for him by a local tailor, shaves, and slicks his hair back from his face, sliding into place the small Lucian crown that curls around his right ear and upward, sleek and dark. Over his suit, he pins his half-cloak and buckles the familiar single shoulderpad, embellished with bright gold that glints in the faded light of the late summer evening. Lastly, he slides on the mask he’d picked out for the occasion – a black metal number that matches his suit and comfortably covers the mess of scarring on his cheeks, with an intricate design of symmetrical curves and coils that flourish across his face.

The celebration is already underway when he arrives at the top floor of the Caelum Via, where, so long ago, the signing ceremony between Lucis and Niflheim had taken place. Noctis stands before the massive double doors that lead from the penthouse area to the open rooftop, nervously adjusting his suit cuffs and listening to the loud bustle of the crowd beyond; it’s his first formal appearance as king, he thinks. Straightening his back, he clenches and unclenches his fists at his side as the guards pull the doors open.

His father’s words echo in his mind: _walk tall, my son_. 

The crowd falls to a hushed murmur as he strides in. “Noctis Lucis Caelum, one hundred-and-fourteenth King of Lucis,” a voice booms out, announcing his presence to all. There’s a lulled moment, and then the applause begins, smiling faces dotting the crowd. A few cheers and whistles sound, most of which Noctis can trace back to where Gladio and Prompto stand side-by-side, fistpumping the air and clapping as loud as they possibly can. He scans the crowd for Ignis and finds his advisor standing at the outer edge of the throng of people, looking prim in his own fitted suit, hair coiffed and a simple black-and-gold harlequin mask settled on his face. Beside him, Umbra sits and leans against his master’s leg, looking rather dashing with newly-groomed fur and a little bowtie fixed around his neck for the occasion. 

He descends the stairs as the clapping dies down and sets to work doing exactly what he was born and raised to do – his kingly duties. Remembering every etiquette lesson his father and Ignis had put him through and every time Gladio beat the bitching out of him as they clashed swords in training, Noctis charms and chats his way, silver-tongued, through the coteries of nobles and diplomats. He meets with Camelia, thanking her for the aid Altissia has already provided Insomnia and noting the long road the city still must travel to full restoration; she nods and empathizes and gives him a rather long-winded account of what her city and people endured in their own rebuilding efforts, and promises more forthcoming aid, provided the two cities remain in good faith. Noctis laughs and nods and smiles throughout the conversation, and docily lets her lead him to meet and chat with a group of Accordan government officials whose names and faces he commits to memory. 

From crowd to crowd, diplomat to royal to Lucian citizen, Noctis makes sure he catches at least a good minute with everyone at the party. _First impressions are important_ , he remembers Ignis saying to him a multitude of times, and he wants to make the strongest first impression he possibly can upon all those gathered at the gala, as both the king and a person. He meets with ambassadors from Tenebrae, spending a good amount of time talking about Lunafreya and Ravus with them. He congratulates them on their newfound sovereignty from Niflheim and promises to plan a visit to the royal palace, both to honor Luna’s memory and to see what has become of the province since he was last there as a child. Other dignitaries aren’t quite as royal as some, but important to Noctis nonetheless – men and women representing Lestallum, Duscae, and other areas of Lucis are present, and Noctis finds himself far more comfortable talking to them than the representatives of foreign nations; he has no doubt that Ignis swung this to put him at ease, and sends a silent prayer of thanks to the gods for the fact that the man always seems to think of _everything_.

The last group he meets with is the new Emperor of Niflheim and her cabinet of trusted officials. Noctis can feel his entire body tense as he walks over to them, but he’s quickly relaxed by the Emperor’s profuse apologies for everything Lucis, its citizens, and the royal family have endured, and promises to make right for past wrongs done to them. She seems incredibly genuine, and as they continue to talk late into the night, he discovers that she was the head of a separatist faction that opposed both the old Emperor and Chancellor Izunia and their continued wars against and annexing of foreign lands. He leaves their conversation with a solemn smile and a brighter vision of future relations between the two nations.

 _Finally,_ it seems his negotiations for the night have concluded, the moon already having risen up in the sky and trays of desserts being set out by the staff following dinner. Noctis excuses himself from a few reporters attempting to get a statement from him, shoves his hands into his pockets in the most un-kinglike fashion possible, and saunters off down a small, unpopulated pathway, sparing one last look at the bustling party. Gladio and Prompto catch his eye, crowded around a circular table stacked high with little hors d'oeuvres, and Gladio snickers, arm wrapped around the smaller man who is quickly shoving mini quiches and chocolate-topped creampuffs into every suit pocket he can find – of which, Noct is surprised to find out the longer he watches the two, there are quite a few. Far more than the average suit _should_ have, at least. Prompto stuffs a creampuff inbetween Gladio’s lips and whips out his camera at lightning speed, the flash going off before the older man has a chance to even fit the sweet inside his mouth; Gladio tightens his arm around Prompto’s neck, swallows the creampuff, and lifts up the blond’s feather-decked mask to plants a quick kiss on his cheek. The scene is so sickeningly sweet that Noctis has to stop himself from pulling his phone from his pocket and texting Prompto to cut it out before he pukes in his mouth.

Noct continues down the side path, following it inside the empty penthouse area to a small, dimly-lit corridor with polished floors and potted plants dotting the walkway. He lets out a sigh of relief and takes a moment for himself, slumping up against one wall and checking the texts on his phone – one from Iris, a smiley face and a link to an article a reporter had recently written about the rebuilding efforts, and another from Prompto that seems to be a blurry picture of him taken as he talked to Niflheim’s Emperor with a caption that simply says “should i be worried?”

Dog nails clacking against the marbled floor give Ignis away before he even arrives. Noctis pockets his phone and turns his head to look at his advisor, being led slowly down the corridor by Umbra. The dog gently bumps against Ignis’s leg, steering him over to Noctis, and sits down with his tail wagging inbetween the two men.

Noctis leans down and gives Umbra a gentle rub between his ears, earning a slobbery kiss on his wrist when he pulls away. “Gross,” he says, laughing and rubbing the wet spot off on his pants. “You gotta stop doing that, boy.”

“Apologies. It seems that habit can’t quite be trained out of him,” Ignis says.

“Wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t know exactly how near his ass that tongue has been.”

Ignis wrinkles his nose at that, and Noctis laughs once more, earning a blithe smile from the other man. His advisor steps forward and leans against the wall next to Noctis, one hand settled on Umbra’s head and the other hanging down, the back of it bumping softly against Noct’s own.

“Gods,” Noctis sighs, raking a hand through his smoothed-back hair and mussing it up, dark bangs falling in his face, “it’s been one hell of a night.” He feels perfectly relaxed in Ignis’s presence, a familiar comfort to him after a night of maintaining regality.

“You did well out there. It seems to me most of the ambassadors were pleased by the things you said to them, if the snippets of conversation I caught are anything to judge by.”

“That’s good, I guess. I’m just.. scared. Scared I won’t be able to do this, or that I’ll disappoint everyone.” Noctis sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and chews it thoughtfully. “I’ve got a whole kingdom depending on me, now, and _more_. One misstep and I fuck everything up.”

“Which is why I am here with you, to ensure that does not happen and smooth over any rough edges,” Ignis replies. “You were raised for this – just as I was raised to be your right hand, and Gladio your shield.”

“It’s just – a lot to face all at once. Everything leading up to the crystal happened so fast, and then those ten years inside passed like a quick dream. And, suddenly.. here I am, expected to lead an entire nation.”

“No one expects you to be a perfect king; you must simply do your duties as best you can and be a beacon for your people,” the other man states. “Like it or not, you have already left an incredible legacy behind that will doubtless be in every history book from Lucis to Niflheim for centuries. What sort of legacy you intend to craft from this point forward is entirely up to you, but you will never have to make those decisions alone.” Ignis offers a genuine smile. “I am, as I always have been and always will be, at your side.”

“Honestly, Specs,” Noctis replies, clasping the other man’s palm and threading their fingers together, letting their arms hang intertwined between them, “where would I be without you?”

“Buried, I suppose, under a mountain of trash in your room.”

Noctis snorts at the answer and his laugh is echoed by Ignis as they fondly recall the days of their youth, when Ignis’s job description seemed to include picking up the garbage that covered every square inch of Noct’s living space. “Yeah,” Noctis agrees, ducking his head in embarrassment, “that sounds about right.”

The sound of the music changing from an upbeat tune to a more slow, somber one echoes down the corridor, carried from the outside party. Noctis leans forward and catches a glimpse of the gathering through a nearby window, watching the attendees flow back and forth on the open floor in a slow dance. The sound of the music is steadily punctuated by small fireworks being fired from the side of the building, and it creates an entrancing scene as people dance back and forth under bright starbursts of color exploding and trailing down in the air like glittering rainfall. 

Ignis seems to have keened to the sound as well, and he takes their intertwined hands, leading Noctis slowly down the corridor to where it flares open in a wide balcony area overlooking the city.

“You know this area?” Noctis asks curiously. Umbra bumps against the outside of Ignis’s leg, stopping him before he gets too close to the balcony’s edge.

“I’ve been here a few times for various celebrations, yes. King Regis often liked to hold royal receptions at the Caelum Via, so I am familiar with the layout of the roof.”

Noctis nods. He isn’t entirely sure what the other man is planning until Ignis guides him so that they’re facing each other and takes Noct’s other hand in his. Beside the balcony, a small firework goes off with a soft _crack_ , leaving a shower of golden sparks to drizzle down through the air, accompanied by the soft croon of a violin echoing distantly from the party.

“Might I have this dance?” Ignis asks.

**Author's Note:**

> the epithet "king of scars" is not entirely mine and actually comes from one of my favorite novels, _Ruin and Rising_ by Leigh Bardugo:  
>  _“All hail the Pirate King.”_  
>  _“Privateer.”_  
>  _“Why dance around it? ‘Bastard King’ is more likely.”_  
>  _“Actually,” I said, “they’re already calling you_ Korol Rezni _.”_  
>  _I’d heard it whispered in the streets of Kribirsk: King of Scars._
> 
> additionally, the fic's title is taken from the song [always gold by radical face](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vqc2uOunPdA) which always makes me think of ignis and noct
> 
> i'm always in the mood to talk about ffxv headcanons & how much the game made me cry -- you can shoot me long-ass messages on other sites like [tumblr](kenway.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/champagnepuppey) and i will happily reply!


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